


Hunting You Makes My Heart Beat Faster

by KoreArabin



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bondage, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Takedowns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-22
Updated: 2012-11-22
Packaged: 2017-11-19 06:29:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/570229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KoreArabin/pseuds/KoreArabin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What do you want, Jimmy?  Do you want to hurt me?  Do you want me to hurt you?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

They start on the sofa, Jim engrossed in some BBC documentary about the history of surgery, Seb stretched out behind him and happy to act as his cushion, both of them savouring Jim's vintage Armagnac.

Jim nestles back against Seb’s middle, and Seb begins to stroke Jim’s hair and the side of his neck. He always finds that caressing Jim in this way, like a child being soothed to sleep, calms his mercurial boss, rendering him relaxed and pliant. And so it is this evening, Jim sighing softly and leaning into Seb’s touch, allowing him to run his fingers lightly over the nape of his neck and across the smattering of dark stubble on his cheek and jaw. Sebastian never ceases to marvel at Jim's jawline; so strong, so _masculine_ , it seems somehow out of kilter with Jim's slight frame and his pale, almost feminine, beauty. 

Seb turns Jim’s head towards him then, pressing light, tender kisses on _that_ jawline, moving to his mouth and letting the very tip of his tongue ghost teasingly over Jim's lips. Jim twists into the kiss, forcing Seb’s lips apart, exploring his mouth with his tongue, tasting coffee and Armagnac and tobacco, Seb returning the kiss passionately, tangling his tongue with Jim’s, their mouths a hot nest of luscious, wet sensation; flesh, muscle, saliva, alcohol, the occasional clash of teeth and, over all of that, the distinctive, deep taste of each another. Sebastian, eyes closed, lost in sensation, almost panting against Jim's mouth, runs his fingertips down to the smaller man's crotch, the heat and hardness there only heightening his own arousal.

Jim breaks the kiss to take a sip of his drink, turning back to Seb and passing the fiery liquid back and forth between their mouths, sucking at his tongue when the brandy at last dissipates, moaning as he twists to run his fingers over Sebastian's shirt front, his trimmed nails scratching at the material and catching Seb's nipples through the fabric. 

Jim then turns himself around fully, kneeling up and straddling Seb's lap, unbuttoning the shirt impatiently to get at his skin, tangling his fingers in Seb's hair and pulling hard, forcing his head up and back and exposing his throat. Seb feels Jim's lips grazing along his Adam's apple, then down to the junction of his neck and shoulder and then - ah, _hard_ \- right there at that sensitive spot, Seb gasping loudly with arousal as Jim bites down, worrying the flesh, bruising it, _marking_ it, marking Seb as his, before moving down to leave similar lovebites across Sebastian's clavicle. 

And Sebastian bucks up into Jim's embrace, his prick stiff but bent awkwardly in his trouser crotch, grasping Jim's arse with both hands, and twisting and squeezing those two luscious orbs, imagining how delicious, how _succulent_ that creamy, perfect, flesh will be to bite and lick and _savour_.

"What do you want, Jimmy? Do you want to hurt me? Do you want me to hurt you?" 

Sebastian growls into Jim's ear, letting his breath huff after it - Jim is so sensitive there - following the breath with a hot, wet insistent tongue, holding Jim in place as he tries to wriggle away. "Like that, don't you, me blowing in your ear? My hot, wet tongue tickling you, and fuck all you can do about it? Makes little Jimmy's cock get all hard and slippery, doesn't it?"

Jim gasps, eyes closed. It's not fair how fucking intimately his ear canal and prick appear to be connected. Sebastian knows this all too well, of course, and is exploiting it ruthlessly. Jim wouldn't have it any other way.

"Seems like you've already decided who's in - ah! - charge this evening, tiger. Rather presumptuous of you, as my - ah! - subordinate? I think we should go head to head for it - mano-a-mano - what do you say, Sebbikins?"

Sebastian grins, his cock twitching wildly at the thought of taking Jim down. Oh, _yes_. "What did you have in mind?"

"Oh, ten minute separation period, then each of us for himself. No weapons, just us and our innate cunning and deviousness. Winner gets to do whatever he likes to the other. How's that sound, tiger?"

"Sounds bloody fanfuckingtastic, Jim. You must really be fucking _gagging_ to be fucked over, if you're offering a go with me totally unarmed."

"Ah, ah, Sebby. Remember your classics - after hubris comes nemesis. I think you'll find your _fucking-genius-boyfriend_ isn't going to be _quite_ the pushover you think he is."

"Yeah? We'll see, sweetheart. Challenge accepted, fucker!"


	2. Chapter 2

After agreeing a five minute pause in hostilities to grab equipment, they prepare in different rooms, the only stipulation being that neither will employ _weapons_ of any kind. Defined initially as rifles, guns, knives, swords, axes, nunchaku, knuckle-dusters, spears, crossbows, etc, etc, they both get pissed off after a while, trying to list every type of weapon that might conceivably be lurking somewhere in the flat, and decide that they both will know the difference between a "weapon" and a "non-weapon" when they see one. Normal household bits and bobs and sheer brute cunning are all that one can use in this contest. 

After grabbing a number of items from his sniper toolbox, Sebastian chooses the kitchen - pretty central to the flat and relatively good for hearing what's going on. Jim plumps for the bedroom - an odd choice, in Seb's opinion - towards the back of the flat and a bit of a dead end, if one's attempting a takedown and fucking over (in more ways than one, fnarr fnarr) of an opponent.

Sebastian strips down to his tight black vest top and undershorts - no socks to slip over on the stripped wood floors, and no clothing to get tangled up in - just him and his senses and his completely ingrained combat reflexes. The little shit doesn't stand a fucking chance. 

Creeping steathily from the kitchen to the hallway, Sebastian checks carefully for Jim-shaped hazards before flipping open the fusebox and tripping the lighting circuit breakers. The flat immediately falls into darkness, the only light ghosting in through the open doors to the hallway; from the the kitchen and the lounge to the left. Although they both of course know the layout of their flat intimately, Sebastian knows that he'll have the advantage if the place is stripped of lighting. He's a trained army sniper, after all, whereas Jim, for all his poncey "evil" dramatics, is a layman, a relative amateur when it comes to hand to hand combat. 

Sebastian creeps silently along the hallway, breaking left into the kitchen and then, stealthily, through to the huge lounge. Using the sofa as cover, he surveys the room. The window - no, the effective _glass wall_ on one side of the room - admits a lot of light. Seb crouches (he can crouch for hours without moving a muscle, utterly still) alert to even the tiniest movement. A mothy, buzzy-type thing headbutting the window distracts him momentarily, but then he's back in the room, focussed and still.

The tiniest of noises sparks his attention. The very faintest sound of rustling, and a muted sniffle. Seb waits, breathing inaudibly through his open mouth, all senses on full alert. He's sure it's Jim, sneaking almost silently along the hallway, perhaps intending to reset the fusebox. But, after what must be a quarter of an hour, there is no further noise, Seb chances a quick reccy around the end of the sofa.

Nothing. Nada. Time to set his trap.

He works methodically, threading the virtually invisible tripwire around the legs of the sofa, across to the heavy coffee table, then to the recliner and diagonally to the radiator cabinet, before tying it off back at the sofa. He moves silently, gliding across the stripped wooden floor, attaching the wire to the various pieces of furniture with the skill and relative ease of one who has had extensive experience. 

Once the tripwires are set to Sebastian's satisfaction, he prepares the restraints; simple plastic cable ties which he can slip over Jim's wrists and ankles and tighten to secure him.

How the little shit can imagine he has even the slightest chance of beating his sniper at this game is a mystery to Sebastian. Perhaps it's the sneaky bastard's way of arranging for himself to be well and truly fucked over without deigning to actually ask for it. Seb certainly wouldn't put it past him.

He waits, silent, poised. He will not falter. He will not give up, assume Jim's gone to bed, and thereby drop himself into whatever Jim's conjured up to trap him. He knows Jim wouldn't do that, however much the little git'd know it would piss Seb off to find Jim snoring gently when he's supposed to be taking him down.

He's had years of experience, after all. Jim could not hope to compete with the patience Seb's developed over hours and hours of sitting waiting, silent and focussed, for a mark to appear, be targeted, eliminated, and then vacate the area without detection.

A sound, suddenly. The slightest whisper of friction on the hall flooring - from a foot? A slipper? A shadow slides past the door, so quickly, Seb could blink and miss it. Jim's going to the kitchen. Seb inches around the end of the sofa farthest away from the archway through to the kitchen. What to do? Slip across to the kitchen and ambush Jim, or out into the hallway and sneak up from behind?

Sebastian decides on the latter; the archway through to the kitchen is too exposed and too easy a spot to surprise someone, whereas it's less likely Jim will be expecting Seb to come at him from the direction of the bedroom he's just left. Carefully avoiding the tripwires, Sebastian begins to stalk his prey.


	3. Chapter 3

Sebastian is as silent as a cat as he begins his approach, moving one foot at a time, setting each down carefully and delicately, ready to balance and freeze instantly at the slightest hint of any sound or movement. The hallway is darker now; a good half hour must have passed since Seb began his stalk, and the night is closing in fast outside. There is not even the hint of a movement in the shadows by the kitchen door and Seb slips silently to the very edge of the doorway.

He has just sneaked only the tiniest peek around the door frame when his ears are assaulted by a loud, rapid, banging noise. _Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!_ He dives for cover against the central island as his face and upper body are pelted with what feels like burning hot pebbles. _Fuck! What the holy fuck was that?_

Then, Jim's trap is suddenly clear in front of him. _The sneaky little fucker! How the fuck did he set that up?_ The popcorn maker has been plugged into a point low along the kitchen wall, and has been left with the lid up to pop burning hot corn all over Seb as he tries to sneak in to the kitchen. Jim must have flicked the switch on the point and wriggled away as Seb dived for cover.

Fuck! Now he's given his position away pretty fucking comprehensively, and Jim's at large elsewhere again. Sebastian is so going to go to town on the little bastard once he gets his hands on him. He waits for his breath and pulse to still, enjoying an extremely vivid mental image of hog-tying Jim with the cable ties before slicing the seat of his trousers open with a sodding carving knife.

Then - only the slightest movement at the very edge of his vision - a flash of glass? Metal? Over by the sofa. What was that? Oh. Then the penny drops. Jim's watch, his Patek Phillippe, which he just loves to show off when he reaches to shake hands with a potential client, letting it slip nonchalantly from beneath the sleeve of one of his immaculate suits. He didn't take it off. Sebastian allows himself a thin smile. _Oh, hubris. Oh indeed._

So, the little shit's by the sofa, is he? Sebastian decides to gamble on Jim not yet having had a chance to scout out the tripwires. No, he'll have been pissing himself at the sight of Seb diving for his life from a shower of popcorn. If Seb rushes him from the other end of the sofa, it should flush the little fucker out and across the room for the door. And right into Sebastian's little maze of tripwires.

Seb doesn't hesitate. With a roar, he launches himself across the room, sliding alongside the back of the sofa, just in time to see Jim's heels vanishing at the other end. The sudden expletive, followed by a wince-inducing _thump_ , is music to Sebastian's ears.

Around the end of the sofa, there's Jim face down on the floor in just his black trunks (at least he didn't pick those bloody hideous electric green monstrosities tonight, thinks Seb, vaguely), clearly dazed and winded. Seb is on him in a flash, the cable ties locked around Jim's wrists and ankles, straddling his thighs, with a hand on the back of his neck.

"Tiger? You fucking wanker. Tripwires aren't fucking "household bits and bobs", are they, you fucking _wanker_?" Jim struggles furiously, his arse wiggling so delectably in his tight trunks that Seb's tempted to just jump him there and then.

"But they ain't _weapons_ , either, are they, Jimmikins? We said - no weapons - we agreed it."

"But it's not _fair_!" Jim almost wails, and Seb has to stifle a snigger. Jim sounds like a little boy who hasn't got his way. "I wasn't expecting tripwires; they're proper _army_ stuff. _I_ used a popcorn maker! Unfair!"

Sebastian runs his fingers along the crease between Jim's buttocks, pressing the material of his trunks against his skin and pulling it up tightly, before tonguing wetly at the fabric pulled taut over Jim's arsehole. "Don't be such a spoilsport, Boss. I got you, fair and square, and I took you down. What d'ya say to me carrying you to bed and kissing any bruises better for you? I bet you hurt yourself with that fall, eh, Jimmy? Hurt your nipples - are they sore? And your poor cock? Does Daddy want Sebby to kiss his cock all better for him?"

Jim struggles around to cast a suspicious eye at his sniper. "It all sounds _utterly divine_ , darling, but I can't imagine you're going to let me off that lightly. What's the catch, kitten?"

Sebastian shrugs. "Oh, there's a little place I've had my eye on for a while now, a sort of weekend retreat where we can get away from it all, you know - relax, fuck, great food, fucking, a full wine cellar, fucking, and an extensive playroom full of every dirty, kinky toy you could ever imagine, just that sort of thing."

Then Seb's bending over him like an excited kitten, eyes bright and full of arousal and fun. "Let me treat you, Jimmy. Let me take you away for a dirty weekend. What d'ya say?"

Jim stretches and rolls his shoulders and looks at Sebastian coyly from under his sable lashes. "Why don't you take me to bed, kitten, and convince me, and I may just say yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued...


End file.
